


“Reborn.” — A Buzzfeed Unsolved Fan Fiction

by AntiSepticLaughs



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Sara Rubin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24148621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntiSepticLaughs/pseuds/AntiSepticLaughs
Summary: 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚁𝚢𝚊𝚗, 𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚟𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚖𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝.𝙰𝚗 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚢, 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚏𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚢, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚢𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚁𝚢𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚝. 𝚄𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚊 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕.𝙰 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚁𝚢𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 “𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢” 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢.
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first time posting in AO3, so if there are any formatting issues either 1) please tell me lmao or 2) I’ll sort it out eventually.

The crisp, late-evening Kansas air encapsulated the group as they each filed out of the grey rental car. This visceral sensation proved effective against Ryan's accumulated anxiety about filming in yet another supposedly-haunted location. He stiffly reached for his folded glasses hanging from his flannel pocket and equipped them. Shane, who had driven them to the dilapidated abode from the nearby hotel, exited second, intrigued by the rotting nature of the building and determined to tack another episode onto their Supernatural series. After methodically tugging down the bottom of his denim jacket in a couple places he brought his arms up for a light stretch after their brief car ride. 

A barrage of three intent knocks startled Shane out of his act. He turned around to meet Sara's ironic, enthused laughter from the other side of the backseat door window. 

"The child lock is on," she daintily giggled and demonstratively yanked at the door's handle, proving its futility. 

Once Shane recovered from the initial shock of the moment he laughed an apology as he fumbled for the car keys within his pant pocket and pressed the 'unlock' button twice. Sara jauntily hopped out and, closing the door behind herself, laughed her way to Shane's side. 

In the meanwhile, Ryan had gained distance on the shoddy house and stood contemplatively in the rocky remnants of a driveway and panned from one side of its stained-wood finishing to the other, and continued this gaze from the house's neglected roof to its shabby, aged concrete foundation. He winced every so often at a particularly black-outlined crack in the walls, occasionally allowing him to see a sliver of the dwelling within, or an especially worn-down patch of wood that bore the scars of wild rodent tendencies. The house's boorish black tint and overall jankiness drilled a sense of transcendent dread in Ryan's chest—the ever-growing darkness of night presenting the scene did nothing to ease his case. 

"It's much darker than it appeared online," he whined to himself. "Doesn't surprise me that a family would be murdered in a hellhole like this."

His hearing caught onto his surroundings after a moment as it picked up the laughter and small chatter of Shane and Sara while they neared his position. He turned his head to meet them and sighed through a smile bourn from nervousness and anticipation. 

"So, uh, any initial thoughts on this location in person?" Shane playfully posed, his left hand firmly intertwined with Sara's right. 

Ryan rolled his eyes and shook his head, retaining his tense smirk. "I definitely hate it; not looking forward to shooting here tomorrow," he laid down matter-of-factly as he loosely gestured an arm to the abandoned abode.

Sara craned her neck to get as full a view of the house as she could from her position. She raised an eyebrow and nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that's a fair opinion."

"What? It's just a shabby, old house with some screws loose—and probably some literal ones, too. Yeah, I'd probably be wary walking on that second floor." Shane cocked a brow at the foreboding building. 

"Shut up, don't say that!" Ryan feigned a step in Shane's direction, falsely threatening a shove. 

"You're gonna go right up those creaky stairs and you're gonna fall right down to the basement, if this place has one."

"It does, Shane; they recovered the bodies of the murdered children buried there." 

"Sh*t," his voice raised a pitch. "Better be ready a not-so-delightful landing, then."

"Oh, my go—" Ryan brought a hand to his mouth and laughed to cope with the dark insinuation. "You go in there first, you f**king psychopath." 

"Alright," Shane replied compliantly. 

The couple split their hands but Sara closely tagged behind her boyfriend, glancing around the areas she stepped to make sure she would not trample anything unsavory. Shane's grasp on the dirty, ancient door handle met an underwhelming stuck jiggle when he attempted to open it. One sudden realization later and he limply removed his hand from the handle and deeply sighed, stifling a peeved laugh. 

"We're supposed to have a city official unlock this place for us tomorrow," he defeatedly reminded the party aloud. "Can't get in tonight." 

"Ohh, f**k," Ryan moaned, annoyed that no one had remembered or thought to remind them before they left. "Well, I mean, we might as well get a three-sixty view of the place, at least."

"Yeah," Sara piped in, "at least make this trip somewhat worth our while."

Shane agreed. 

The three walked to the house's left side facing the direction they came from, which bore a similar state of neglect to the front. Ryan noted the broken corner of a translucent window on the second floor, deepening his apprehension to the location. 

The party filtered along into the backyard area and stopped in place one at a time as they witnessed a strikingly strange sight: they noticed first a large pile of loose coarse dirt and then, secondly, a heavily-damaged and rusty rectangular shovel wedged into the earth close beside it. Most chillingly of all, a rough hole about the size and shape of a full bed bore into the ground, too deep to determine from afar. 

This acutely alarming scene laid a mere several yards away from the back door of the house and the spot where the three had halted to behold the display. 

"Uhh, none of the pictures online showed anything like this around the house," Ryan protested in confusion. He looked to Shane, who did not tear away his gaze from the hole in the ground. Instead, he broke off from the others and began to independently approach the questionable pit. 

"Wh—" Sara stammered. 

"What are you doing?" Demanded Ryan in a hissy whisper. 

"I'm curious," Shane innocently retorted, fixated solely on the excavation. 

Step by step he approached, only looking away to spare quick glances at the forest line on the opposite side of the hole out of caution. By the time he had inched his way there, Ryan and Sara caught up behind him within seconds. The three of them now stood together, meager feet away from the lip of the depression. Shane took the initiative and stepped forward first to get a look of what may lie within the perturbing void. 

What he saw—or, rather, what he thought he saw, as evening did not provide much illumination—caused him to draw back with an exaggerated "Holy f**king sh*t!" 

"What, what, what is it?" Ryan urgently pleaded. 

Shane took a few seconds to catch his breath before speaking plainly, albeit jaggedly. "I... I think there's—there's a, skeleton... in there."

"What?" The two bystanders reacted in unison. 

"Are you f**king serious?" Ryan rhetorically asked as he marched past Shane into the spot where he had drawn back from.

Unfortunately, several mounds of dirt obscured the masses within, vexing Ryan that he could not confirm nor deny Shane's finding. The dimmed haze of the night also aided the ambiguity of the lightly-colored items within. After a moment Ryan retreated from the site, unsatisfied but having seen enough. 

"Looks like just a bunch of rocks to me," he declared, displeased. "I say we tell the official about it tomorrow and see what they have to say." He sighed. 

A few minutes of deliberation passed before the three finally decided to take their leave. They had just rounded the corner on the right side of the house before something within Ryan beckoned him to stop and reconsider. Shane and Sara continued a little further on before stopping and turning to face him. 

"Sorry, I just want to take one more look real quick." He turned and started returning to the hole, this time digging in his pocket for his phone. 

The other two could do little else but follow him at a distance as a reminder to not take too long. When Ryan got there he turned on his phone's flashlight and balanced on the front of his feet as he knelt down to get a closer view of the pit. One irregularly-shaped mass caught his eye. What little of it breached from beneath the dirt seemed too smooth, too intentional, to be a rock of any kind, he reckoned. Ryan then noticed that a small portion of it seemed to curve inward. 

He had no time to physically react when the pile of turf beneath him suddenly gave way, sending him plunging down into the hole. "Sh*t!" 

Sara produced a yelp at Ryan's exclamation while Shane, taken aback, forced himself to sprint to the scene. 

"Ryan! Are you ok?" He sounded out of breath, but not from the running. 

Ryan's right side had plummeted into the soil and miscellaneous debris below. Amongst his murmurs of pain he managed to reply with a tremulous "Yeah." Shuffling around and struggling to get up resulted in more jabs of pain, mainly along the parts of his body that struck the earth when he fell. 

"W—Can you stand?" Shane imperatively asked. 

"I... think so." Ryan replied strenuously between hollow coughs. 

The pliable soil beneath him hindered his first attempts at a graceful recovery, but given a moment he shakily aligned himself on his feet. Shane caught sight of something from his angle above Ryan. 

"Sh*t, you're bleeding." 

A glance to Ryan's left showed nothing, but the area between his right shoulder and neck greeted with a slowly-flowing wound of small dimension. 

"F**k." Ryan flinched at the sight. "I hate blood."

"Here." Shane took the initiative to grasp his friend's left wrist and waited for him to return the gesture. 

Once they finally had him out (Sara had come over to help), Ryan glimpsed back and forth sporadically between the blood on his hand from touching his wound, the blood emitting from said injury, and the infamous pit. 

"Oh, I hate this." A slight quiver rang in Ryan's voice. 

"You're fine, you're fine," Shane gruffly assured, gingerly dusting off some of the dirt in his friend's hair. "You can walk. We just gotta patch that up and clean you off."

The party wordlessly agreed and started to return to their vehicle. Shane spared a parting glance at the hole before turning around. Ryan's fall had disturbed the initial state of the pit's contents to revealed some of what lied within: a now-crumbled human skull. 

Unbeknownst to them all, a gloomy figure lurked from the forest behind the house, intently observing their every move.


	2. Chapter 2

Ryan did not know whether to attribute his tinge of lightheadedness to the loss of blood or the adrenaline slowly draining from his body since the fall. However, apart from the various potholes and divots, the drive back to the hotel helped lull his nerves. He glued his vision to the scenery outside of the window to his right, inadvertently letting his guard slip and hitting his head against the glass more than once.

Just before Ryan considered falling asleep, the group had returned to the hotel. A gentle jostle from Shane returned him to his dulled senses and the three exited the vehicle, Shane maintaining a vigilant eye on Ryan every second he could. 

As luck would have it they had rented a room on the bottom floor, eliminating the problem of Ryan having to make it up several flights of stairs. Sara strayed once they entered the building, stating she would find an employee who could help, or at least a medical kit. In the meantime Shane continued coercing he and Ryan to their room. 

The blood flow from the wound had mostly diminished, but the red now stained a better part of Ryan's shirt on its right side, a few drops even making their way over his shoulder and onto the front side of the grey apparel. To the boys' furtive relief, no other lodgers stood in the hall containing their room, allowing a stress- and stare-free search for their dorm. Ryan took a slow and deep breath to wake himself up as the two hastily perused the door numbers, searching for their 212. At last locating the fifth door on the right, Shane swiftly retrieved the key card from his black denim pocket, swiped it, and coerced Ryan and then himself inside. Shane slid the card back into his pocket as he closed the door behind them, intently leaving it unlocked for when Sara returned. 

Now Shane took his turn heaving a sigh while he spun the desk chair around to rest in for a moment. "Do you wanna wash off what you can in the sink, Ryan?"

His injured friend glanced up to him at the mention of his name, realizing he had mindlessly honed in on the unintelligible nature of the carpeted floor. Ryan brought his right hand to the spot of the would, gingerly hovering his fingertips over the site of impact and puncture. 

"Um... yeah." Words came slowly as his mind caught its way back up to reality.

The vast hotel mirror welcomed Ryan with the reflection of a dusty, half-bloody victim of random chance and gravity. Instinctively he flinched away from the sight, but, upon accepting what needed to be done, he begrudgingly returned his gaze to get started. 

First, he leaned over the sink and ruffled out as much dirt, sand, and other earthy material from his hair as he could manage. Next came the disheartening part, to him: he removed his shirt as delicately as possible and held it in both hands in front of him. What black text that once boldly headlined the front had become a ghost of its former glory to time, which Ryan had personally liked about some of his shirts. Now its right side looked like it had seen the terrors of war, except with less gunshot wounds and general destruction. 

"I liked this shirt," he childishly mumbled to himself. 

After accepting his loss he finally turned his attention directly to his wound through the mirror. The shirt had absorbed most of the apparent damage from the blood, leaving his skin relatively untainted save for the immediate area outside of the wound. He plucked a fresh towel from an open shelf beneath the counter, dampened it, and brought it to the injury. 

The initial cleaning process did not hurt as much as he expected, to his relief. Though, using any amount of pressure beyond necessity hurt nearly tenfold-worse than poking a bruise, so Ryan began using small, gentle flicking motions with a corner of the towel instead. As he did so, he heard the smallest noise and halted in confusion, directing his attention to the floor. 

On the aged, off-white tile laid a small object, and a sharp one at that. It appeared yellowish and dusty, almost like a piece of a young fossil. In addition to this, Ryan's blood drenched most of it from one side, the other half appearing undisturbed. 

Holding the towel over the injury, Ryan bent down to pick up the object with his right hand and stood upright again, a little jarred from the action. The object stretched no more than an inch tall in his palm. One side of it seemed flatter than its other, almost perfectly-rounded side. Its material seemed light and sturdy, like it would crack rather than crumble if exposed to heavy forces. 

A thought struck Ryan and he turned his attention to the mirror. Looking at the heart of the wound for the first time, he noticed that it had resulted from a puncture rather than a scratch or scrape, caving inward at a sharp but small decline. He flinched away, having seen enough, and mentally compared the size of the wound to the diameter of his mysterious object, deeming it plausible that this caused his main injury. 

Minutes later Sara knocked on the door with a medical supply kit and she and Shane got to tending to their friend as adequately as they could. Once finished, a patched-up Ryan asserted his tiredness and politely (albeit drearily) insisted the three of them go to bed. 

"Yeah," Shane agreed and stood up from the room's single bed that they had repaired Ryan on. "Oh, and there's more painkillers in the kit, in case it hurts in the morning."

"I'm sure it will; thank you," groaned Ryan. 

The two parties said their goodnights to each other before Shane and Sara departed for their room a couple doors down. Ryan, after locking the door behind them, sat back atop his bed to see the craftsmanship of his bandage. Square-shaped, beige, and adhered on the edges, it adequately secured whatever healing ointment the medical kit came with. He delicately sighed and figured he would go to sleep at a more reasonable time that night rather than stay up, for obvious reasons. After getting himself into a somewhat-comfortable position, having to maneuver around the pain of his right side, he felt himself slowly, however restlessly at first, slip away into sleep. 

-

The morning greeted Ryan with an illuminated slap to the face. Groggily flinching from the surplus of sunlight, he jaggedly pushed himself up in bed and gradually opened his eyes to the world. His room appeared as it did last night, except brighter. No surprise there. His first line of action called him to reach over for his phone. He pressed the home button and read the most recent notification: "Wake Up". 

"F**k," he cursed within and to himself; he had slept in past his alarm by almost a full hour—they would all be leaving the hotel soon. 

Slowly but surely, amidst the aches and pains from the fall, he got up and began hurriedly preparing to leave for the day. He first recalled upon entering the bathroom that he had not taken out his contacts last night. "Great." Begrudgingly, he dug his glasses from his suitcase before returning to the bathroom to shakily remove the contacts, forced to use his left arm for both. 

At last able to see clearly, he honed in on his reflection and noticed something. Not knowing if it resulted from tiredness, the lighting, or otherwise, Ryan noted that he seemed paler than usual. He promptly shrugged it off, though, and attributed it to any remnant of shock from his accident. 

A t-shirt, a light jacket, blue jeans, and running shoes later he finally made it out of the room. He walked intently to Shane and Sara's room, posed to knock, when the door suddenly gave way before him, revealing the two aptly dressed and also ready to head out. A confounded Shane glanced up and down at him before speaking. 

"Woah, what's up with you?"

"What?" Ryan retorted, ignorantly confused. 

"You're, like, five shades paler."

"Not that much." Ryan's pitch escalated rapidly, nervously laughing at himself. "Yeah, I don't know, I just woke up like this. It's nothing to worry about; I feel fine."

After a brief moment of consideration Shane believed him, and the party banded together to grab some of the hotel's free breakfast. 

-

The wind appeared to have died down that day, leaving the world stiller than the previous night. This, coupled with the midmorning sun and adequate weather, produced a serene atmosphere for the group. In spite of its run-of-the-mill, arguably basic classification, the town took overt pride in its one and only visual staple: their church. Constructed of a soft, ancient-looking rock that at one point in time seemed neutral in color, now flaunting a dusty brown-grey tint, the church's ornate and intricately-chiseled shell coerced Ryan to pause just outside of its equally-intimidating doors. The lower portion of the building boasted nothing, slabbed with plain, jagged stone in a brick formation, but at its peak eye-catching sculptures of elegant spikes on the corners and delicate abstract carvings laced the perimeter made of a smoother, similarly-colored material. The workmanship demanded the attention of those with any shred of appreciation for the art of architecture. All of the abstract stone designs joined together to enclose the pièce de résistance of a sumptuous stained glass mural in an upper-middle spot on the front of the church. It comprised mainly of lavish red and bold ultramarine, with accents of a hushed yellow and a pop of emerald green wherever needed to command the spotlight. And right in its center gloated a stunning cross, embodying every glass color used throughout the rest of the mural, braided along the edges and extending off of it at its ends, wherever suited best in making it draw the eyes to nothing but it.

At this point, Ryan had stood in place so long that everyone else had gone inside to prepare and set up, leaving nothing but him and the artistry. He nearly completed taking his fill of the brilliance before him, making his final stop at the cross within the stained glass masterpiece. Midway through his admiration, something happened which took Ryan a moment to realize. Within seconds his vision abruptly tinted an intense pink shade, closer to that of a diluted red color. Operating on instinct he rapidly blinked his eyes and brought his face down to rub them. When he looked around and then to the cross again, the tint had vanished. Concerned but wondering if what had just happened, happened, Ryan froze in place to ponder for a brief moment before knocking some sense into himself and hurrying into the church. 

A few minutes later and the boys' interview with one of the church's deacons, Laura—an older lady with aged curves and buoyant, short, blonde hair—could take place. The brief introduction sequence occurred as normal: Ryan asking the main questions and Laura sweetly and leisurely answering in full, with Shane intermittently inserting miscellaneous jabs of wit or commentary. But as the interview progressed, Ryan increasingly found himself slipping up mid-sentence, inserting unnecessary and questionable phrases at the end of some questions; unknowingly making insensitive comments under his breath at the mention of some tragedies that aided the town in its infamy; and making crude and virtually heartless jokes at Laura's sympathy. 

By the meeting's end, Ryan had boorish glares at him from almost everyone on all parties and he had grown privately worried at his actions and how he seemed incapable of keeping himself in check. The moment the cameras clicked off he rose from his spot in the pew and power-walked for the church's entrance-slash-exit, cupping his right hand over his bandage in a futile attempt to ease the burning of his wound, which had incrementally worsened during his time inside the church. Shane, after apologizing to Laura of Ryan's misplaced character and assuring that his intentions stood innocent, followed strongly in suit. He arrived at the open door to see his friend several yards out, restlessly pacing. 

"What the f**k was that?" He opened bluntly, seeing that as the only valid first reaction to the perplexing fiasco. 

"I don't know, you tell me!" Ryan gestured with his free hand and raised his voice noticeably. "I—Look, what happened last night, happened, and I—I guess I'm still shaken up ab—about it, ok?"

Shane sighed through his nose and turned his head to look in the distance for a moment. "Alright, well, I already apologized for you... I hope we can at least use most of that footage."

Ryan paused his pacing to review what he had said during the interview. Despite it having occurred only minutes prior, he found that he could not recall fragments of what he had said at any given time, normal questions or indecent comments. This only supplemented his nerves as he now impulsively rubbed his thumb over the bandage, despite the burning having stopped curtly upon exiting the church. Shane, noting his friend's anxious mannerisms, made an effort to walk over and attempt to ease him. 

"Look, I'm sure everything will be fine later. You probably didn't mean to say that the killer should've gone through the front door because it would've been more discrete at the time, essentially trying to give pointers to a family-murderer," he sarcastically half-mocked. 

"Did I?" Ryan facetiously smiled as he muttered to himself, that line having been one of the many he could not recall. Unfortunately he did not react as quietly as he may have thought, warranting a just reaction from his friend who stood before him. 

"Well, yeah," Shane offhandedly affirmed. 

Now Ryan tilted his head to the ground in shame and self-disappointment. At this, Shane exaggeratedly sighed and side-hugged his friend with his left arm. 

"C'mon, it's fine. We have some time to kill before twilight; we can do anything we want until then as long as we're at that haunted house by six. Let's go see what kind of dives this city has."

"Ow—What?" Ryan curtly maneuvered out of the hug, as his right side still sharply ached from the incident the night before. 

"What, "dives?" You've seen Guy Fieri's show."

"Oh, yeah." Ryan forced a laugh in realization. "I—I guess, sure, yeah." 

And so the two headed off in their grey rental car and made for the heart of the small town.

~

One long drive through the scenic and cultural-abundant town later and the two decided to pull into the tiny lot of a local diner. Standing proudly with the square footage of a one-story house, the little restaurant flaunted faded red-and-yellow-striped hood awnings above its large, dusty windows and a section of glass on its front door printed with the diner's operating hours that had chipped and faded over time. Overall, Shane thought, it seemed a wonderful place to eat while also experiencing some of the culture of the unassuming city. 

The boys exited the grey rental sedan one after the other and stepped up to the restaurant. Shane made it first to the door and opened it for Ryan, and the second it creaked open on its squeaky hinges the elusive and overwhelming smell of brunch mixed with steaming oil fumed from the restaurant's cabin. They each took a deep whiff of the intoxicatingly homey aroma and swiftly started their hunt for an empty table. 

To none of their collective surprise, nearly every table stood vacant, save for a lone family of four occupying one to their immediate left upon entry. Ryan pointed out an open semi-circle booth to the far-right of the scene, to which Shane agreed upon and the two gladly claimed it and sat down. 

Less than two minutes later a full-figured, dark-skinned woman in an apron matching the design of the awnings shuffled to their table and slid two laminate menus before the boys. 

"Hello, hello, boys," she songfully chirped. "Just how are we doin' today?"

"I'm doing fantastic, actually," Shane replied. 

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, but Ryan nodded and chimed in, "I'm doing fine, too."

"Well, that is just magnificent! Now, can I get you boys started with some drinks? How about you, sugar?" 

She turned her body to face Ryan, pen and notepad at the ready, and looked him in the eyes, a lively and amiable gleam in hers. Ryan stammered in surprise and hastily perused the drinks section on the menu. 

"I'll, uh, have some of your root beer, please."

"Mm-mm, that's a fine choice. And how about you, y'handsome devil?" She spun to Shane. 

"I—well, thank you—I'm surprised you have green tea on here."

"Well, we try to have just about anything for just about anybody."

"That's a great code, I think. I'll have some of that, please."

"Absolutely, absolutely. I'll have that right out to ya in a moment. My name is Layla if you boys need anything." 

"Thank you very much, Layla," Shane chimed. 

"My pleasure."

After tucking the previous page of her mini spiral behind the pad, Layla spun on her heels and retreated through the employees-only swinging door, bringing a hand to her poofy, greying pigtails and fluffing them up a couple times. 

"What a hoot!" Shane brought his hands to the back of his head and leaned into the cushion backing of the booth. 

"That's the kind of energy we need in LA. Everyone's worked so far into the ground they can barely put on a smile for anybody. We need more Laylas around."

"Definitely," Shane relaxedly sighed. 

Ryan snickered to himself. ""Sugar." I got the iconic black lady pet name."

"And I'm handsome." Shane straightened his arms to the side and stretched before clutching his menu and leisurely perusing its contents. 

"And also the devil."

"Is she wrong, though," goaded Shane, not looking up from his menu. 

"Jesus," Ryan hushedly exclaimed aloud through an ironic smile. He shook his head and sighed. 

"I'm kidding; loosen up," his friend poked. 

The two sat in silence for a moment to read their menus. Less than a minute in, Shane glanced up to Ryan and exaggeratedly sighed like a parent about to give a lesson to a stubborn child for the third time. 

"C'mon, do you wanna tell me what happened back there? When you're scared or nervous you ramble, you don't insult people. Hm?"

Like a child preparing to hear the lesson for the third time, Ryan scoffed and rolled his eyes, breaking away from the menu. He gestured with his hands some indeterminable stream of thought as he scrambled for something to say. 

"I—" he sighed. "Alright, I'm going to be honest: I don't know. I just entered the church and felt mad out of nowhere, and I took it out on that poor lady. She did nothing, I know, but I didn't care at the time."

"You say that like it happened years ago."

"I—It feels like it did already; I don't remember most of what I said."

Ryan propped his head on his left hand and returned to his menu, feeling the burning gaze of his friend linger on the top of his head. Out of respect for his friend's boundaries Shane did not press the topic further and, after a brief moment, also returned to his menu. 

A short while later Layla returned to take their orders and, afterward, skipped back to the kitchen area. Every once in a while one of the two would attempt to strike up a conversation, all of which ultimately crashed and burned. The tension that hung thickly in the atmosphere felt more awkward than disdainful, leaving both boys sincerely wanting to alleviate it but not knowing just how to do so. Instead they pulled out their phones and scrolled through text messages or social media until their orders arrived. 

That seemed to be just the thing they needed. After they focused on their meals for a little while—Ryan on a plate of classic Belgian waffles and Shane on a pair of flawless French toast slices, both dishes lathered in rich, authentic syrup—conversation became natural again and they recovered from their previous hiccup. 

"It's like a, uh, little guilty pleasure, you know?" Shane proposed. 

"Yeah. I mean, most brunch places in LA are either packed to the brim during the most convenient hours or small and local but incredibly shady. Gotta indulge when you can." 

"Yeah, and that's the point of it all: experiencing other cultures when you're able to."

Ryan nodded as he took a bite of his waffles. Just as he prepared to continue the discussion, he felt a sharp pain within his left cheek and inadvertently dropped his fork. It clunked against the edge of his plate, startling both of them. 

"Ow, f**k," Ryan hissed, muffled, as he brought his left hand to his face in an attempt to soothe it. 

"What, what is it?"

"Just bit the inside of my mouth—f**k."

"Chill, it's alright," Shane calmly assured. 

Ryan hastily swallowed his food and went for a sip of his water. When he pulled away, a sheer, shiny red sheen clung to the rim of his clear plastic cup where his mouth had just gone. 

"Oh sh*t," Ryan acknowledged, almost in awe. 

"Geez," Shane reacted in suit, squinting to see the full extent of the mess. "Yeah, uh, go wash out in the sink, or something." 

"Yeah, ok," Ryan anxiously assented. 

He slid out of the booth and made his way to the restrooms on the opposite side of the restaurant. The rustic wooden door creakily gave way to an average-looking bathroom. Tasting the strong and growing presence of metal he hastily made his way to the lone sink and spat out a mixture of blood and saliva, red making up most of the mixture. 

"Nasty," he hissed, revolted, before spitting once more. 

He turned on the sink and cupped the water into his mouth three times, swishing and spitting until at least most of the blood taste had receded. Once the bleeding had mostly withdrawn, Ryan shut off the sink and looked in the mirror. He used his fingers to pull forward some of his bottom lip to see the damage done. To the left of and below the opening of his mouth perched a straight and puffy red line, still steadily and slowly leaking blood from where one of his canine teeth had stabbed. 

"Great." Ryan rolled his eyes, miffed. 

But just as he prepared to return to the table, something caught his eye. No one else would have noticed it (save for maybe his own mother), but in that moment as he looked at himself in the mirror Ryan could have sworn that his teeth seemed sharper—not all of them, however: just the two positioned behind the corners of his mouth. As the son of a dentist he considered himself practically raised to always take note of the way his mouth presented itself, so seeing an anomaly such as this—should it even be real—left him much taken aback. 

"I—I'm not freaking out, right," he fearfully questioned himself in a murmur, grateful that no one else occupied the room. 

He retracted from the mirror and took his right thumb and pressed it against the point of his left tooth, the one that had injured him. Immediately after poking it, he recoiled in surprise from the tiny but present shot of pain that ensued in his thumb. 

"What the sh*t," he breathlessly remarked. 

He placed his hands behind his head and darted his eyes around the room in frantic contemplation. 

["This is nothing. This is nothing. I'm seeing things, this is literally nothing. As if anything like that would be possible..."]

After taking a moment to re-evaluate his sanity, he remembered Shane waiting for him in the booth. Ryan took a deep breath and sighed, ultimately accepting the hypothesis that the incident still had him perturbed and that he should not overthink anything. 

To his relief, Shane did not mention anything in the way of incidents to him and they maintained a normal conversation for a better part of the next hour. During that time the sun had just started to set, casting rich orange and yellow hues on the boys' faces and across the diner's aged beige walls. During one of Ryan's turns in their discussion, Shane flipped over and opened his phone to check the time. He waited for his friend to finish speaking before he brought it up. 

"It's a little past 5:30."

Ryan had almost entirely forgotten about the haunted house despite his incident there just the previous night. Almost instinctively he gingerly raised his right hand for the bandage on his neck, which the collar of his denim jacket almost completely hid from view. Secretly, he did not want to go to the house out of the irrational fear that something else would happen to him, taking the incident as somewhat of a bad omen. 

"Right. I guess we've been here long enough."

The two waited a few minutes for Layla to visit their table so they could pay for their meal. Once she returned Ryan's credit card to him, the two made haste for their car in the unlit lot. As he buckled up and prepared to drive to the house, something within Ryan screamed at him, urging him not to go back to that abandoned, foreboding estate. Despite his better judgement and due to the fact that they had a job to do, Ryan took a deep breath and turned onto the main road, en route for the unearthly location.


End file.
